The Birth of a Nation
by Stolen Key
Summary: Ireland is struggling for independence and England is desperate for her to stay. What can she do? One part of her wants to stay, the other part is screaming for freedom. Set around the birth of Northern Ireland in 1921.


_Umm hi ^^'_

_I'm really sorry for not updating Hello America in so long but I kind of had to write this. A few things annoyed me and inspired me to finally churn the rest of this out. Half of it was sitting on my laptop for almost a year and that fact alone annoyed the living daylights out of me o.o _

_But yea, updates for my other fics, along with this should be more frequent considering I now have a routine and started a very boring course that gives me plenty of time to plan fics and write bits :D_

_This was partially inspired by two songs, Busted's Why? (from Ireland's perspective) and Taylor Swift's Wonderland. _

_Ok so this is about Northern Ireland and how (in my fics anyway) he came into existence. I'm a little mean to England but given the time period and events occurring in this it's a given. He may also act OOC for a little bit, but that's due once again to events. I'll bring him back into character straight away afterwards. _

_I also included a rant on something I found that really annoyed me at the end, you know... cause history is fact and picking and choosing little bits isn't cool._

_Enough of this now and onto the fic. Enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Day one<strong>

England stood at the red door, a small suitcase in hand. The street behind him was abandoned with the onset of a heavy downpour. He groaned at the coldness that seemed to etch itself into his soul from the water that seeped through his jacket. The last thing he expected when he set off from the port that bright sunny morning was a sudden change of weather. She must have known he was here. Lifting his hand up to the bronze lion knocker he was about to pull it back when the door fell open in front of him. His dark, bushy eyebrows shot up as he looked around in surprise however he couldn't see anyone. Calming himself he pushed the door until it was fully open and he found a large black dog with glowing green eyes glaring at him. Cu sidhe, the name flashed in his mind like it was a neon sign. To England, it only meant danger, but he had to ignore that. He had business to attend to after all. Stepping over the threshold into the house and dropping the suitcase just inside the door, he was shocked to see the dog turn and start padding down the hall; it stopped near a set of mahogany stairs covered in a rich blue carpet to look back at him. Demanding England to follow.

As England obeyed and made his way further into the house, he could smell alcohol clinging to the air. It was a foreboding sign and one he was not completely willing to face. Eventually he was led to a door near the end of a long hall. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the bronze handle down and let the mahogany door swing open slowly. He gasped at the sight inside.

Surrounded by her fae, a ring of lights floating in the air was the red haired woman he had come to see. She lay on a red couch facing into the cushions, an empty bottle of whiskey in her hand dangled off the floor. On the floor were countless cuttings from papers and sheets of legal documents; each one stating information from each of her counties. The most numerous of the reports were from the six counties that had opposed her fight. Once again England sucked in a breath and stepped forward. Upon reaching her, the faeries scattered but lingered at the edges of the room, carefully watching his movements in case he did something they didn't like. Kneeling down beside the woman England narrowed his eyes on seeing her unconscious. Placing a hand across her forehead he decided that she wasn't ill, but seeing her like this was strange. He knew she had a very high tolerance for alcohol and one bottle of whiskey, regardless of size, was not going to knock her out. Taking the bottle from her hand, he lifted it to his nose then quickly pulled it away, coughing at the smell.

_Poitín_, he thought, of course it would have to be that.

Taking a final glance over the room he noticed that the bookcase against the opposite wall was empty, the books strewn across the floor or ripped into pieces and hastily burnt in the fireplace. It was then he noticed a set of photographs and small paintings on the coffee table in front of him. Reaching down he flicked through them, they were mostly of her along with a few friends and nations. He stopped at an old painting that was nestled in the photos. It was ripped from the frame and the canvas torn almost in half, but the subjects were still pristine despite the painting's age.

She stared at him from the painting, her lips set in a permanent small smile he knew she had to force, along with a small young colony who had abandoned him far too soon. Another boy, very similar to the blond boy with the sparkling azure eyes and a bright smile stood slightly behind her. As if hiding from the painter. His errant curl and violet eyes some of the few things discerning him from his brother, at least in looks that was. It was then England's eyes landed on the figure sitting, no lounging on the tall armchair beside them. His heart shattered just a little more on seeing his own smiling face. He could still remember the day, it was long before everything started falling apart. One of the few times he was actually happy, before everything got to him and he started losing everything he had worked so hard for, before people started leaving him. He didn't want to be alone again, he couldn't. With that thought he threw the painting along with the pictures back onto the table and spun to look down at her.

She hadn't moved in the few minutes he took to reminisce on finding the painting. Without sparing another thought for fear of losing himself in nostalgia once again, he reached down and carefully took her into his arms, lifting her up from her chosen resting place. As he turned he was greeted by the cu sidhe and was led from the room to another one upstairs he assumed she had taken for her own. However upon seeing it, he couldn't leave her there. The room was a ruin. The mattress was ripped to shreds and downy feathers lined the floor. Blankets and pillows that once inhabited the bed were bundled in a torn mess in the corner. More papers were scattered and tattered beyond recognition were spread over the mess. The pictures he knew she always had hanging meticulously on the walls were now strewn across the floor, one lay on the ruined mattress, a gash running through the canvas. He didn't want to focus on the mirror like subject.

Manoeuvring to turn back around without hurting her, he left the room and started checking the rest of the doors. To his horror the majority of the rooms were a duplicate of the first one that was until he found a single room, pristine and frozen in time before the turmoil set in. Shuffling inside he lay her onto the immaculate white sheets that covered the large bed. The pale blue curtains were pulled back revealing the newly emerged sun, the previous rain all but forgotten as the yellow beams filtered in. Moving across the room he shut them, blocking out the too bright light and in their place he turned on a bedside lamp. It was then he finally took his time to actually look at her.

Her long auburn curls had been chopped off leaving only a frazzled mess. Pale skin dotted with freckles was ashen, all life lost in those normally rosy cheeks. If she was awake he knew her eyes wouldn't be the bright grass green he was used to, they would be dull, just like the last time he saw her. He could hardly believe it had been almost four years since he thought he had prevented the oncoming war, nor could he believe that he had honestly thought that that would have stopped it. It didn't, it only aided to spur it on. So while he was distracted with other wars and his own people's troubles, he couldn't fight her. Not truly.

Falling back into a chair in the corner of the pale blue room he could feel the presence of her faeries linger around him. Although invisible to him now he could still detect them. They were worried and it seeped into the air, polluting it and filling England with a sense of dread. When he left London he knew things were bad, that this ongoing war was having an adverse affect on the female nation. He just didn't expect it to be this bad.

An hour passed and still no movement. Eventually he decided to search the once glorious townhouse. Much like the rooms he had already checked, most of the house was in disrepair and looked as if animals had rampaged through it, destroying everything it their path.

More time passed and after checking her again then deciding she was going to be out for another few hours at least, he set about repairing what he could with his magic. He soon found that the majority of it was easily repaired, however the paintings were not. They had been destroyed by magic, stronger magic than he had ever dealt with. So whilst the rest of the house was restored to its former glory and food returned to the presses and pantry, the paintings remained a reminder of how it had once been.

The day passed with England waiting on the chair keeping a close eye on the nation. He didn't know what time it was when he drifted off, but when he woke the bed was empty, the sun had set and the cu sidhe lay at his feet. Shaking himself back to life he promptly stood up and raced to the bed. The sheets were still warm. He spun then stopped seeing her standing in the doorway gripping her arms and tears lining once sparkling eyes.

"Why are ya here?" she asked in a small, trembling voice.

"Ireland, I..." he started.

"No, don't say anything," she swiftly cut him off and turned away, cradling herself as she spoke. "I don't want anything to do with you and... and..." her voice broke as a sob caught on her throat and she fell to the ground.

On instinct England leapt forward and tried to pull the woman into an embrace only to be pushed away.

"Ireland please just stop all this," England urged, "I promise if you just end all this nonsense things will be better." Desperation riddled his voice. Not only was this war hurting Ireland, it was also causing him a great deal of stress as she formed part of his kingdom.

Ireland shook her head and stumbled back to her feet. She stood unsteadily for a moment then made her way downstairs. She stopped to look around, taking in all the repairs but not making any other gesture about them.

"It's too late, lad," she said calmly. "I don't know if ye remember but something's changed and it can't go back to how it was."

England couldn't answer her, instead choosing to narrow his eyes at her in confusion. Yes, there had been some small changes within her lands, but they could be reversed.

Ireland laughed slightly under her breath and turned towards the kitchen. Slamming the door after her and successfully hitting England on the head. A twinge of guilt ran up her spine at doing so, the rest of her body rejoiced in causing the Englishman pain.

He fought to remain calm, to not let loose and shout at the Irish nation. Experience had taught him that over the last few years, she was volatile and he was better not risking her wrath, especially now.

"Ireland," he tried again, "if you let me just help you, if you would just let me in all this could be solved. We could come to some agreement."

"No," Ireland interjected, "this time I'm not dealing away my life. This time I'm going to win and there's nothing you can do."

She set him with a firm glare, her resolve hardened and unbreakable. For the first time ever, England now fully feared the outcome of this war she had waged against him, this war that could possibly put a wedge between them forever. He wasn't ready to lose another nation. He wasn't ready to go through that heartache again. However this time he feared it would be worse. This time he was going to lose someone he cared about more than he ever dared admit.

"I..." England started but faltered, the words catching in his throat.

"You what?" she shot back, her patience was starting to run thin and England's presence was causing havoc with her mind.

A part of her wanted to listen, to come to some agreement that would end all the fighting, that would make things easier. However a greater part of her was screaming how much it wanted away, how tired she was, how fed up she was of being worse than dirt to him. To anyone. She had enough, she had to cut the ties regardless of how hard it would be. Something inside her snapped and the barriers fell, allowing her to rip into the Brit. She let it all out, all the pain, all the anguish and tragedies she had to suffer at his hands. How it destroyed her, how it ripped her into pieces and almost brought her to utter despair. Despite allowing everything escape into the air in the form of her screams she kept her insecurity secret. He couldn't know how split her mind was, how much one part, one small part of her never wanted to leave. As her breathing became more erratic and her voice hoarser she finally began to fall silent.

It was then she noticed the tears that had started trickling down his cheeks. The entire time she had screamed and let all her thoughts and emotions loose, he had remained quiet. Absorbing every insult, every word as if it was his only duty.

Silence fell over the room.

"Fianna, I'm so sorry," he choked the words out in barely more than a whisper.

They weren't enough to win her forgiveness as she harshly swept her hand across his cheek. A red welt quickly forming were her hand met his skin. Once again he didn't react. The most she received in way of acknowledgement of the slap was a hand reaching up to stroke the obviously painful spot.

"Ireland, is there anything I can do?" he said, finally conceding to the fact that Ireland wasn't going to listen to him.

"You know exactly what I want."

England paused to consider it, "I can't... I'm sorry, anything but that."

"Why not?"

"...I can't lose someone else, most of all you. Ireland I'm really sorry for everything but please, please just give me another chance. I swear I'll fix everything."

Ireland's heart stopped as England begged for her to stay. She had never seen this. Not even when America had left, it ripped the Brit into pieces, but not like this. It was now the part of her that wished to remain with England that was screaming at her. Begging her to stay with him, to never leave his side. Oh how she hated that small voice in the back of her mind.

"Why?"

"Because... I..." he fell silent, unable to get the words out. However a solid glare from the Irishwoman spurred him on, mostly in fear that she would run like she always did when things got too emotional. "Because I... I can't imagine a life without knowing you're there when I need you, I need you Ireland and I just..." he stopped to take a breath, "please don't make me say this, please."

No answer only another glare.

England stared back at her through tear filled eyes. This time he was preparing to have his heart crushed, to say the words he had kept hidden, kept secret for centuries. Steadying himself he met her eyes and wiped away the tears dotting his.

"I love you," the words hung in the air. Neither person moving or acknowledging what was said.

Suddenly a sob escaped her lips and she crumpled onto the ground, desperately clinging onto herself as she shook her head in denial.

"No, no, no, no," she chanted insanely as her sobs grew louder. "Then why would do all that? How could you put me through all that?" she screamed, her voice breaking.

"I was scared, I didn't want to lose you so I tried keeping you as close as I could, I never meant to hurt you but then the more my Empire grew the more I feared I would lose you and I..." he cut himself off.

This was it, this was the moment he was going to be rejected. The only time in his long life he had ever admitted such feelings he was now preparing himself to be crushed and then to lose her forever.

What happened next shocked him, she launched herself forward catching his lips in hers.

The next morning he found himself next to her, a small smile set on his lips thinking he had actually succeeded. That things would be simple from here on out. He was wrong. The moment she woke she forced him to leave. The rage from the night before returning in full force. Within a mere minutes the Brit was thrown out onto the street, the door locked behind him.

Despite spending at least half an hour slamming on the door trying to get her to let him back in, it remained shut. Eventually, distraught he gave up and left. He was halfway down the street when the rain started. He knew she was crying, it always rained on sunny days when she was upset.

Meanwhile a pair of men waited on the corner hiding behind newspapers under a tree until it was clear. Once England had vanished around the corner the tall man with bright red hair nudged the other man with shoulder length blond hair and they quickly jogged to the red door.

"Ireland," the man with red hair, emerald eyes and large black eyebrows called out and knocked on the door, "it's just me and France, would ye let us in?"

The door was slowly opened revealing a teary Ireland, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground in front of her.

"Lass, ye shouldn't have let him in," the red head said kindly and pulled her into a tight hug.

"Oui, for once Scotland's right," France agreed and pushed his hair away from his light blue eyes.

"I didn't," she muttered before running off into a panic induced explanation, "I just... oh god what have I done? I was so confused and he said... he said that he... I... I don't know what I'm going to do anymore." She broke down into tears, leaving the two nations nothing to do but comfort her.

Two weeks later Ireland awoke to find she was no longer confused, like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Like she needed her freedom.

_Chapter end..._

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><p><em>Now rant time :D<em>

_It was pointed out in a review on another fic I wrote that NI was essentially born from the conflict between England and Ireland and that is pretty true (abstractly of course). It didn't exist until 1921, a year before Ireland became independent. Anyone who says it existed before that is not only insulting me (extremely hard to do), but nearly a quarter of a million other people who live in the ROI Ulster counties (even harder, nigh on impossible to do), cause lets face it. Before NI there was just Ulster... which was also mostly planted by the Scottish cause the English thought the land wasn't worth their time and the terrain was too difficult for them to work with. So they pawned it off. Or at least that's what happened in my county and the ones in NI bordering mine, but that's another thing altogether. It also disappoints me that I found very few fics that actually acknowledge the whole NI didn't exist before 1921 thing. _

_Rant over... well until I find something else to rant about, which I have but I don't want to scare people . _

_Ok now for why I wrote Ireland the way I did. Her country is splitting. Northern Ireland is coming into existence and unless he comes into existence Ireland would be stuck in limbo unable to clear her head enough to follow one path. Her mind is split due to her people wanting different things. Thus the reason she did what she did which was so out of character at that point._  
><em>So this is only gonna be three chapters and they should be updated soon considering I feel like it's necessary given events that occurred. <em>  
><em>Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope I didn't scare anyone off by my rant . Reviews are always helpful, even if it is a history lesson or something. I'm always open to new knowledge and feel anything constructive is always a help ^^<em>

_Key out!_


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